They were all in their late teenage years; one or two of them might have been slightly older. They all looked the same, each with neatly cropped short hair. They each wore well-fitting polyester black shirts and black athletic pants. It was obvious that these were some kind of uniform. Each of them had a determined look in their eye as the stood in a perfectly straight line, awaiting their fate.
The one at the front of the line bit his tongue. It was his turn. A man that appeared to be in his forty’s said a word of advice to the boy, then handed him two semi-automatic 9mm’s. The boy took them in his hands as though he had held many weapons before. He stepped away from the man, and into the designated area that would change his life, for better, or worse.
Across from the boy, stood another teen, dressed in the same fashion as the rest of the boys that were about to be tested. They stood in a circle, an arena of sorts, with a diameter of about one-hundred feet. Each of the boys gripped two pistols, one in each hand. The middle aged man shouted suddenly, “GO!” and the two boys jumped sideways, in opposite directions. Immediately they began to swing the pistols around as though they were blades. It appeared almost as though were dancing. They spun and they flipped. They weaved and wove. They were never still, and shots were constantly being fired. Seven point five seconds had passed since the middle aged man had shouted “go”, and already the battle had ended. One boy had fallen.
The boy fell to his knees; his skin had been penetrated by bullets in two places, each within an inch of the other. He yelped, and then fell flat. Dead. The boy who still lived hadn’t been shot a single time and sighed with relief. He walked away from the battle-ground, and into the shadows. Behind him the middle-aged man shouted “go” once more, and immediately sharp gunshots echoed off the walls of the dark building.